


This Universe Gives Us A Chance

by unicornspaceinvasion



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22950115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornspaceinvasion/pseuds/unicornspaceinvasion
Summary: Jon was ecstatic about his new job at the Magnus University Library Archive. Less so about his new... co-workers.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)/Other(s)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 235





	This Universe Gives Us A Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please know that all my facts, names, and places are VERY hand-wavey. I've NEVER been a part of the red string gang, and I sincerely apologize for that. This is a gift for Lyssie on the Magnus Writers discord! Please enjoy. I really, really hope you enjoy. You wanted an alternate meeting, pre-canon, archive team nonsense... I sort of just cracked the canon open and scooped out my favorite bits and parts I thought you might like, like a particularly juicy pumpkin. I tried... a few things, and I know it's not everything you asked for, but. Yeah. It certainly is a collection of words, I'll say that.

The letter appeared in Jon’s mailbox just before the beginning of the second term in his third year. “Mr. Sims,” it began, “thank you for your application to the position of Archival Apprentice at the Magnus University Library. We would like to offer you a position starting…”

Jon was elated, even though this was his second time applying. It (privately, deeply) irked him that he’d had to apply more than once for a job that was so clearly made for him, but unfortunately, justice doesn’t always prevail. Or does it? He had, after all, gotten the job, and two weeks later he was stood behind a small desk in the dustiest part of the Library Archive, white cotton gloves tucked safely into his pocket “Just In Case.” The woman he would be apprenticing under, a severe-looking lady named Gertrude Robinson who probably predated more than a few of the historical files, had told him to take today to get comfortable with the Archive itself. She was attending a faculty meeting a few buildings over and Jon was honored that she would trust him with an Archive key on his very first day.

Jon knew he would be spending quite a bit of time here in the future, so he had to take today very seriously. Actually, he should probably take every day very seriously. After all, Apprentice Archivist to the Magnus University Library would look impressive on any CV. (Georgie had no idea what she was talking about, obviously. If anything, she was jealous of his determination and success.)

“Right, let’s begin,” he muttered to himself, straightening his shirtsleeves compulsively. He pulled out his phone and notebook, carefully donned his gloves, and started drawing out the locations of each section from above, taking pictures to compile as he went. The books and documents ranged from fairly recent to crumbling with age and Jon found himself, more than once, admiring the different archival techniques while simultaneously wondering how much work it would be to bring the collection into the digital era. His map was definitely on the wrong side of sloppy, but Jon wasn’t hired for his artistic skills (thank god).

He was building up a pretty good rhythm on his own, even considering taking a little break and polishing off the half package of Twizzlers he had squirreled away in his shoulder bag, when the Archive door opened with a bang. Jon’s startle wasn’t quite dignified, and the small shriek he let out even less so, but he immediately headed up to the door. Along the way he grabbed the first thing he could see as a defensive weapon. Only God knew how much damage a mostly-ornamental dictionary could do, but if that’s what it came to, it would soon be God and Jonathan Sims. Judging by the enthusiasm of that slam, unless Gertrude had spent the last 3 hours ‘roiding up in the faculty lounge, somebody was here who wasn’t supposed to be, and it was Jon’s job to protect the Archive.

“Hello?” Jon called out, and he would forever deny any waver in his voice.

“Oh, hello!” A cheerful voice called out from the general area of the doorway and Jon’s alarm dropped from red alert to a solid yellow. He paused just before rounding the corner to take a quick breath and compose himself before making contact with the… guest. _Professionalism,_ he reminded himself.

The man standing in the entryway had an uncanny resemblance to an over-sized, overly-strong teddy bear. Any amount of intimidation he might cause with his broad shoulders, thick middle, and looming height was completely overcome by the gentle, open expression on his soft, friendly face. Jon wasn’t dumbstruck, of course, but he was suddenly very aware that he was 168cm on a good day with a physique slightly reminiscent of a rat. The other man seemed to be sizing him up as well, but the smile didn’t falter.

As he straightened his cuffs again, Jon looked down and realized he was still holding the dictionary. He awkwardly shifted it into what he hoped was a more casual grip in one arm and tried to adopt a Professional expression.

“What are you doing in the Archive?” Jon could smack himself.

The smile on the man’s face dimmed ever so slightly and he paused to take in Jon’s expression.

“I'm Martin... I guess Gertrude didn’t tell you about the project?”

***********************************************

***********************************************

Day two found Jon sorting through general school information files and stacking them in piles based on the pre-existing filing system, then walking each stack over to Ms. Robinson’s office for review. At least, that was the plan. And it would have been a fine plan: a productive, educational plan… If it had actually worked out like that. What _actually happened_ was about 15 minutes into his 4-hour shift, the Archive door opened once again and chatter filled the previously-silent room. Jon set down the paper he was reading over with a deep sigh and watched as not one, but three cheerful students headed in his direction.

He obviously already knew Martin, but the tall, beautiful, bespectacled woman and equally tall, beautiful, well-coiffed man flanking him on each side were new. New, unexpected, and slightly intimidating. So Jon promptly opened his mouth and stuck his foot right in.

“Jesus, does the newspaper double as campus security?” The words escaped before Jon could reign them in and he felt himself pale, but none of them seemed to take it as an insult. The woman snorted a laugh, Martin gave one of his irritatingly soft grins and shrugged, and the mystery man looked delighted. He stepped around Martin’s form and stuck a hand out. A chunky gold ring adorned his pinkie.

“I’m Tim, this is Sasha,” he gestured to the woman, who gave a little wave, “and apparently you already know Martin. Mr. E said we should come check in and see what you’re up to, get the _feel_ of the library.” He did actual air quotes with the last part, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “So what do you get up to here?”

Jon would have loved to tell them that it was his second day and he honestly wasn’t sure himself, but that would have definitely reduced any minimal authority he had. On the other hand, he would also have loved to tell them to get out of the Archive and let him work in blessed peace, but that didn’t seem like the most appropriate reaction either. Instead, he sighed again, took one last look at his stacks so as to not lose his place, stood up, and gestured toward the back of the Archive.

“Ms. Robinson is in her office, let’s go see what she has to say.”

The meeting with Ms. Robinson was brief and to the point, as all meetings with her tended to be. She didn’t get up, nor did she offer any one of them the single wooden chair she kept beside her desk. Her most recent project was spread before she and Jon could make out pictures of what looked like a garden and something about a fire, but snapped to attention as soon as she spoke.

“You’re supposed to be finding articles for the blog, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “So look for articles, find articles, and maybe do a little digging to see if anything happened after they were written. It can’t be that hard of an assignment. You may go.” Jon opened his mouth, perhaps to protest that they could do their project with digital files from the library after he was done with them, but the look she sent him was as cold and sharp as a butcher's knife left in the freezer. Once sure he was properly quelled, she turned back to her papers, clearly having no more time for the lot of them.

Jon glanced around at the group, accidentally made eye contact with Martin, and shrugged. Martin and the others seemed to share his sentiment as they returned to what was quickly turning into Jon’s unofficial-official project table. Any hopes he might have had of them packing up and heading out were dashed when they made themselves comfortable, pulling extra chairs over to share the (admittedly large enough) workspace.

“Well, that went fantastic.” Sasha’s face was pinched, voice sarcastic and low.

Tim nodded, pulling out a Macbook and booting it up. “Yeah, she seems like a peach.” Jon knew he should defend his boss, but she hadn’t given him any reason to thus far. “But at least she’s better than Mr. E.”

“Oh, no doubt, she doesn’t hold a candle to him.”

That was the second time Jon had heard that name.

“Mr. E?”

“Yeah, Mr. Elias. _Elias Bouchard_.” Tim put on the most overdone posh accent possible. “Our instructor. God knows what he’s doing working for this school, when he’s obviously .”

“Oh, you know what he's doing here. Or rather, _who._ _”_ Sasha smirked and the three of them let out a round of giggles. Jon felt distinctly like he was missing out on something.

“He’s basically the biggest wanker I’ve ever met, and there are some serious creep vibes coming off him. I can’t put a finger on it, but something’s off.” Sasha continued.

“It’s his eyes. There’s something wrong with them.” Martin added, reaching into his bag and pulling out a-

“No drinks in the Archive!” Jon pointed to the offending insulated bottle. Was this man serious? In the _Magnus_ _University Archive?_

“Ah, I’m sorry!” Martin quickly shoved the contraband back into his backpack, then threw his hands up in a display of innocence.

“Why would you even bring that in here?” Jon’s voice was sharper than it needed to be, but apparently Mr. Gentle Giant was running a little low on common sense today.

“It's just tea! I didn't even think about it!” Martin said, clearly not expecting Jon's reaction and unsure how to continue.

“Martin.” Jon took a deep breath and glanced at Sasha and Tim, who were watching with mild surprise and amusement respectively. “You can't bring drinks into a room that houses century-old papers. Look around you, man. If anything were spilled on any of these, I'd lose my job and you might fail.”

“Alright, I see your point. But... is there a break room then?” Martin asked, looking properly chastised but still hopeful at the thought.

“Yes, there's a room over here. Bring your _tea_ and I'll show you.” Jon stood again, now a full 20 minutes behind schedule, and waited for the others to follow, adjusting his sleeves impatiently. Sasha stood but Tim shook his head.

“You guys go, I'm going to start looking for stories.”

They made quick work of touring the break room. Jon pointed out the bathroom, mini-fridge, and electric kettle, noting Martin's pleased look at the last. Sasha didn't seem particularly impressed with the setup but had no complaints. When they returned, Tim was standing in front of the shelf closest to the desks, his face scrunched in confusion.

“How the fuck are these files even organized?”

Ah, something Jon could answer! It might not have been what he'd wanted to get done today, but it was still a better use of time than he'd done so far. He pulled out the notepad from yesterday and flicked the cover open.

“Alright, starting with the oldest, 1830's...”

***********************************************

[A paper found on Tim Stoker's dorm room floor]

***********************************************

The trio was quickly on their way to becoming “regulars” in the Archive, or regular as one could become in a week and a half. Despite Jon's best efforts to ignore them and focus on his job (and they were fine efforts), they drew him into conversations day after day. Jon secretly hoped, after the first time Ms. Robinson stuck her head out of the office to glare them into guilty silence, that they might decide to pack up and find a new spot and leave him to his order and learning. That apparently never even occurred to them, because as soon as she disappeared, the conversation started right where it left off, just softer.

(Surprisingly, Ms. Robinson didn’t seem to have any problem with the group being here, overall. She barely took notice of any of them after the first meeting. Jon had dispelled his dream that she would be taking him under her wing after the first week.)

The journalists had apparently been given Jon’s schedule, because they showed up almost every time he was on shift. Either he opened the door to find one, two, or all three of them lounging already in the uncomfortable wooden chairs, or he sat down and started working, only to be interrupted within the first 10 minutes. Today was one of the latter days, in the second week of term.

The group bustled in with their usual amount of noise and energy, but Sasha was the one to slap the assignment down on the table in front of Jon.

“They think it was boring! Do you believe that?”

Jon frowned at the sheet now obscuring a poem from 1907, primly lifting it with two fingers to move away from the delicate old paper. Once free of the risk of damaging the aged note, he read over it quickly.

The article had been about the construction of the University Library building itself and the follow up had been tracking down all updates, add-ons, and renovations since then. It was concrete, with no room for misinterpretation, which seemed to be a foundation of the class: finding truth.

However, the instructors didn’t seem to agree.

“Historically relevant only inasmuch as that the building still stands.” Wrote a neat, flowing hand in blue ink.

The single word below it was messier, all capitals, and purple: “BORING.”

The number below it was scratched out twice in the two different pens, with “72%” seemingly settled on at last.

“So what, they want more interesting?” Jon wondered aloud.

Sasha threw her hands in the air. “I guess! We followed the rubric, do they even have the right to grade us like that?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.” Jon shrugged. He felt a little bad that they’d received such a low grade, but he’d never even met the instructors, let alone ascertained their grading styles.

“It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is. Here we found truths, and they want, what, sensationalism? Why the hell wouldn’t they say that in the first place?” Tim chimed in.

Martin shrugged, clearly the most resigned of the three. “Maybe we should look for something spooky. It was our first try, we can only improve from here. Right?”

His positivity may not have been matched by the other two, but they set upon their research for the new week with renewed fervor. Sasha was determined to show the instructors up, Tim jumped on the Spooky idea enthusiastically, and Martin guided the team toward better attitudes, slowly but surely.

Jon focused on his work because that was what he was there for, but if he kept half an eye out for anything that might be considered ‘spooky,’ that was his own business.

***********************************************

[From the search history of E. Bouchard]

[Handed back week 1 assignment, shoved to the bottom of Martin Blackwood's backpack after review]

***********************************************

The group was surprisingly fair at splitting up work. Jon watched with slight irritation at the efficiency at which Sasha broke down their tasks for the third week. It was Monday afternoon, and she was the first to arrive and had put it upon herself to jump-start the week’s assignment.

“Jon, what do you think about this one?” Sasha asked, handing over a yellowed news article. The headline read, “MAJOR STORM SENDS TOWN INTO DARKNESS.”

He glanced over the article, something about an electrical storm that took out the entire town's power during the winter solstice in 1972. Reportedly there was nearly an hour where people who had been awake reported that they couldn't get light from anything, even matches. It had resolved itself, though, after power companies reset the system... or something. (Jon wasn't an electrician, and apparently neither was the writer of this article.) It ended with some slightly ridiculous speculation on supernatural causes.

“Well, it sounds like a bunch of paranoid nonsense to me, but sure.” He scanned it quickly then passed it back to her. “It's an interesting story, I guess.”

Sasha hummed in agreement and set it aside to show the others, digging back into the piles.

They worked in companionable silence for about 20 minutes before Martin and Tim swept into the Archive together. Martin was holding a grocery bag and made a beeline for the break room, sparing just enough time to flash Jon and Sasha each a grin.

“What’cha got there, Martin?” Sasha called, keeping her voice just slightly below an actual shout. Jon winced.

“You’ll see!” The chipper reply came from the open doorway. Jon tried to ignore them in favor of returning to his work, but Tim came up behind him and leaned his arms across Jon’s shoulders, not using his entire weight but still nearly shoving Jon into the table.

He avoided breaking his nose on the scuffed walnut surface, but it was a close thing.

“Shit! Tim, come on!” He exclaimed, bucking him off. Tim went without a fight, laughing.

“Sorry, man, you’re just so focused. What’ve you got there?” He leaned back against the desk, bracing a hand on Jon’s left and boxing him in, just a bit. Jon ignored the heat at his back, choosing to show off his current article instead.

“It’s a record of the retirement celebration for the creator of this Archive, actually. Jonah Magnus.” Jon pointed to the older man in question, sitting proudly at a desk that was once situated about 5 feet away from their current position.

“…Huh.” Tim looked over the article, leaning in close to Jon to see it more clearly.

Jon heard a cleared throat from behind him and turned to see Martin standing in the break room doorway, holding a cupcake.

“A little bird told me it was your birthday this weekend, Jon.” He said, his expression just a little pinched. “So I brought something for us to eat here. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your actual birthday, but I figured it would be nice for you.”

Oh. Jon had actually forgotten that his birthday was on Saturday. That probably said something about the way he ran his life, but he knew for sure what he had 3 assignments due Friday night, so he had his priorities pretty much straight.

“Um. Thank you.” Jon stood and Tim moved back to let him through, then went back to studying the picture.

“Hey, Sasha, look at this picture. Does this guy remind you of anyone?”

Jon ignored that and headed into the break room, where Martin held out a cupcake for him. It was vanilla with white icing, generic, but didn’t look like something from the store.

“Did you make this?” Jon asked, turning the cupcake to admire it from different angles. It was by no means a work of art, but the thought of someone putting the time and effort into making something sweet while thinking about Jon was… a lot. Something twinged in his stomach.

“Yeah, I like baking.” Martin nodded, a determined expression on his face. Jon’s surprise must have shown through because he pressed on. “It’s not weird, you know. Baking, or writing poetry, or sewing. They’re not weird hobbies.” This was apparently something Martin had had to defend before, and Jon related to that.

“I know, of course. That’s not what I meant. What I meant was: thank you. And this looks great.”

Martin’s expression went from guarded to pleased in an instant. It almost made Jon feel bad for not liking icing. But nobody had made him something for his birthday since he was 16, so he was determined to enjoy this.

It was too sweet, but then again, standing in the little break room with Martin, soon to be joined by Sasha and Tim, it seemed fitting. Something in Jon’s chest felt warm, and he attributed it to possible fast-onset heartburn from the sugar. No need to look any deeper.

***********************************************

[Martin Blackwood's most reccent spotify playlist, set to Private, title "<3?"]

***********************************************

Week five of the term found Jon in a bit of a frenzy. His first midterm was fast approaching and the time in the Archive was taking away from his studies just a little. He figured that if he talked to Gertrude, she would probably excuse him for this week, but Jon was never one to ask for special favors. He signed up for this job, he would (eventually) reap the benefits, so he owed it to the Archive to continue his efforts at a steady pace.

That didn’t mean that he couldn’t panic, though.

He was looking at a page of an old University informational pamphlet, trying to glean from it any clues about Greek Literature and Storytelling (if he couldn’t study his textbooks, he might as well try to find something relevant here), when the floorboard next to him creaked. Jon, currently under the influence of at least 4 cups of coffee and an ill-advised energy drink to counteract his equally ill-advised lack of sleep, jumped about 4 inches in the air with a strangled yelp.

He glared up at the intruder to find Martin at his side, holding a mug.

“That better not be-” Jon started to warn, when Martin upturned the mug right over Jon's head.

His heart nearly stopped, but instead of hot (or even room temperature) fluid, the cup was empty. Martin's grin had a mischievous glint, something Jon had seen before but had seldom been directed at him. (After the incident the first time meeting him, Martin tended to be slightly reserved with him. The attitude didn’t seem to affect his conversations with the others. Jon couldn’t quite figure out why.)

“I made some tea for us, but it's in the break room. Are you at a good stopping point?”

Jon sighed deeply and looked down at his papers. He was working through a stack of letters, files, and newspaper clippings about the 1920's expansion of the school's science wing which, riveting as it was, could wait for five more minutes before entering the computer.

“Yes, that sounds... Nice.” He conceded, standing and stretching out his tight joints.

Martin winced at the sound of Jon's body's cracking noises. “You know sitting all hunched over like that isn't good for your back, right?”

“I'm aware,” Jon replied wryly, finally finishing up by touching his toes and standing back up. He looked back at Martin and frowned.

“Martin, are you feeling sick? You look a little red.”

Martin made a slightly strangled noise and started to nod, then shook his head vigorously. “Not sick, not at all! I’m just fine. Ready for that tea?” He turned and strode away without waiting for Jon’s reply.

Odd. Had he said something wrong?

He followed his coworker (project partner? Acquaintance?) into the break room and sat heavily in one of the rickety chairs that had made its way in since the group started meeting here regularly.

Martin poured the tea at the counter, his broad shoulders flexing through the thin t-shirt he wore as he reached up in the cupboard for sugar. Jon found himself staring and blinked twice, shaking his head to clear out the fog. He was more tired than he realized, apparently.

The tea was perfect, as always. Martin had figured out his drink preferences within the first week, and had known the other two’s already. Jon privately wouldn’t be surprised if Martin made himself flashcards of peoples’ favorites. He seemed the type of man to do that, just to make sure everybody got what they wanted. It was a stark contrast to Jon, who honestly didn’t even know how his own grandmother took her tea at this point.

Martin settled into the seat across from Jon and took a sip of his steaming tea, humming with pleasure at the taste.

“So, Jon… How are you doing with classes?” Awkward as always.

“They’re fine.” Jon replied, intending to end the conversation there. But he was simultaneously exhausted and wired with caffeine, and Martin’s presence apparently did something odd to his filter, so the words continued without his permission. “I’m tired, Martin. There’s so much work to be done, and I expected this job to be a little more guided than it is, though I’m happy to have it. I have three finals coming up in the next three days and am essentially desperate to get some studying done, but here I am, looking at newspapers and running a scanner like it’s the only thing that matters. I didn’t realize that I’d have to give so much to this job; it’s just a student internship.” He hunched over, feeling suddenly vulnerable for revealing so much to the man across from him. Martin seemed to have things figured out, though he was a bit of a goof. He probably had everything sorted for midterms already, and would laugh at Jon’s plight (good-naturedly, always, but still laughter). Or worse, he would coach Jon on how he should have studied.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Jon waited for more.

“What would help you right now?”

That… Was a question he hadn’t expected.

“I… I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He couldn’t see any way to make this whole situation better. He was possibly spiraling, a bit.

“Maybe… Once I finish my stuff and you finish yours, maybe we could study together.”

Jon looked up finally and noted the sincere expression on Martin’s face.

“But we don’t share any classes.”

“That’s alright, I don’t really need to study.” _Ah, here comes the humblebrag._ “My biggest midterm was this morning, so all that I’ve got left is my extra projects and stuff. Anyway, I’m sure your classes are more interesting than mine.”

Martin smiled at Jon again, and Jon took a moment to really consider what he was offering.

“Alright then, let’s do that.”

“Great!” Martin’s face was pink and warm and made Jon think, oddly, of a sunflower. “Let’s finish our tea and get back to work then, we’ve got our work cut out for us!”

Jon’s heart did a weird thing. He frowned and rubbed his chest. Now was a terrible time to catch a cold.

***********************************************

***********************************************

Jon wasn’t expecting an invitation when Tim started talking about the “absolute rager” off-campus that he’d been invited to, so it came as a huge surprise when Tim turned to him mid-conversation and gave him exactly that.

“You want to come? It’ll be pretty great, my friend’s uncle’s place is huge, there’s free beer, someone’ll DJ, and we’ll all be there, so you won’t be alone!” Tim paused. “That is, you’re welcome to bring a friend if you want. Do you have a Special Friend?” Jon could hear the capitalization of the last two words (and see the accompanying wink), and cringed just a bit.

“No, I’d have thought that would be obvious by now.” Jon looked down at his sweater-vest, and back up at Tim, gesturing to his whole person. “This doesn’t exactly scream ‘ _hello ladies,_ _’_ now does it?” He adjusted his cuffs awkwardly.

Tim gave him an obvious once-over and tilted his head. “I’ve got a couple responses to that, but my first question is: is that what you’re looking for? A lady?”

Tim let out a little gasp and Jon frowned at Tim, who shot a quick glare at Martin.

“I’m just asking, because, you know. None of us are shy about our tastes,” he gestures around the table, “and if you happened to be looking for a gent or something else, we could work with that!”

Their tastes? Jon had never considered that any of them save Tim were anything other than straight, and he’d only considered Tim after he’d shown up at the Archive with a hickey on the back of his neck, talking about some guy named Gerry. As for Jon, he’d been out to those who mattered for over a year. He’d just never realized that these people were going to become part of Those Who Mattered, so he’d never actually told them.

“I’m not really looking for anyone right now... But I don’t really pay much attention to gender.” He shrugged and took another sip of his tea. Over the rim, Martin glared at Sasha and rubbed his arm. Jon felt, once again, like he was missing something. Why did these people give him that feeling so often?

“Hey, I have an idea!” Sasha said, leaning forward over her drink and tapping on the table. “Why don’t Tim and I go as a date, just for fun, and you and Martin can go too!”

Jon’s mind froze for just a moment, and when he came back to reality Martin was coughing, soda dribbling down his face from where it had apparently come out of his nose. Jon wasn’t sure if the disappointment he felt was because apparently he had missed a near-perfect spit take, or because Martin didn’t seem too keen on being his date, even just for fun. Not that Jon was invested in being Martin’s date! It would be for fun, of course. But even then, the idea didn’t seem to appeal to Martin.

He mindlessly held up his napkins for Martin to take, who was still coughing.

“Fuck, that burns.” He whined into the stack, wiping his nose and mouth and blowing his nose rather loudly to get the rest out.

Sasha looked on, unimpressed.

“Martin, you’re the worst.” She rounded on Jon. “Anyway, what do you think?”

Jon looked at the others. Tim had a huge grin on his face and was already nodding. Martin, on the other hand, looked like he was considering his escape routes, including but not limited to self-immolation.

“I don’t really… think that would be a good idea.” Jon said slowly, watching carefully for the relief that would no doubt flash over Martin’s face.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Jon watched as Martin went from red, shifty-eyed, and slightly panicked to even redder, hard-eyed, and rather murderous.

“Excuse me,” he said, glaring at Sasha and only at Sasha, “I suddenly remembered I have to leave. You two,” he pointed to Jon, who barely contained his flinch, and Tim, whose expression was suddenly less buoyant than 5 seconds ago, “have a nice day.” He left without another word.

Sasha groaned and put her head down on the table. Tim leveled with Jon, expression carefully blank.

“Sorry about that, Buddy. I have no idea what just happened.” He flashed Jon an obviously fake smile and collected his things. “However, we also have to do some… mending. We’ll see you at the party, alright? Don’t miss it, I’ll text you the address!” He stood and took Sasha’s arm, tugging at her. She groaned again as she lifted her head, dramatically rolling it toward Jon.

“Sorry, man. I really thought it was a good idea.” She stood as well and the two of them made a hasty exit. Jon was left sitting at the table, staring at the door.

Huh. He didn't even get a chance to tell them that he was, for once, actually had plans with his Grandmother. Perhaps it was better to not share that particular fact. Jon prepared a text message to the group chat they'd established “for convenience and memes” according to Tim.

***********************************************

[A note tacked next to the door to Sasha James' dorm]

***********************************************

The Archive was certainly more lively than Jon had imagined it would ever be. He’d admittedly had some romanticized ideas when he’d started, about sitting behind a desk and capturing the essence of Dark Academia, drinking pints of coffee and tea and staying up all hours of the night to work on his Passion Project of Archiving information. The real job was admittedly a lot less dramatic and a lot dustier, but he found himself really enjoying it, and had somehow ended up gaining… friends? From it.

Jon was musing about the whole situation as he entered the Archive on the 8th Wednesday. He was expecting the Archive to be empty as usual for a Wednesday, so it came as a surprise to him to hear soft music coming from the break room. He set his bag down beside the table and wandered back toward the room.

It was Martin, with his phone set on the counter, tinny speakers playing a cute-sounding pop song. Martin had two cups in front of him and shimmied as he poured hot water from the kettle into each of them. He was mumbling along to the song, shaking his hips and shuffling from side to side. It was… certainly a sight. The song hit the chorus and Jon vaguely recognized it as a remake of a classic… Motown? American “oldies” song. Martin’s dance got a bit more energetic and he set the kettle down and attempted a spin, which was derailed halfway through when he made direct eye contact with Jon and simultaneously tripped over his foot, sending him crashing to the floor. Luckily he fell away from the counter and avoided getting scalded, but Jon rushed forward anyway.

“Are you alright?”

Martin rolled flat onto his back and rubbed his elbow, which apparently had caught him, and gave Jon an embarrassed thumbs up.

“I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were already here.” He paused, as if to consider whether he actually wanted to know. “How long were you watching?”

“I just got here.” For some reason, Jon didn’t feel like he needed to mention that he’d been there for nearly half the song. It didn’t seem right. After the weirdness with Sasha, he and Martin had managed to be normal with each other, but he didn’t want to chance making things weird. “What’s that song?” The song came to an end and was replaced by something else, another upbeat song Jon didn’t recognize.

“Oh, that’s Dancing In The Moonlight. It’s by Toploader, they never really got famous. But the song is great! I love it.” Martin didn’t seem inclined to get up on his own, so Jon held his hand out. As Martin took it, Jon had the sudden image of Martin, strong and clumsy as always, yanking him down on top of him. The panicky thud in his chest went away when Martin carefully lifted himself up, barely using Jon’s modest strength but accepting the gesture. “Thanks.”

Martin pointed to the steaming cups.

“I made us tea! The other two aren’t going to be here for a little while, so theirs can wait. But I knew you get here around 4, so I made yours already.”

Jon took the cup with appropriate thanks and spent the next 15 minutes pretending that the tingling warmth on his palm was from the mug.

***********************************************

[a digitized newspaper clipping in the posession of Sasha James, to be used for schoolwork]

***********************************************

The last week of term was upon them. It had practically flown by, Jon found himself thinking. He hadn’t expected this job to mean quite as much as it did to him. Ms. Robinson had actually come up to him yesterday with a custom “Junior Archivist Winter 2020” mug and a written offer to continue the job next term, which Jon was still considering.

He’d made quite a lot of progress digitizing files, recording a few (but not many, due to the noise the Journalists usually made), and reorganizing paperwork to fit with the system. Ms. Robinson had seemed impressed when he gave his final progress report, if the single-centimeter nod had meant anything.

She still intimidated him to pieces.

But the real appeal to the job, Jon was a bit ashamed to admit, had ended up being the Journalists. They’d brought energy to the Archive, and to Jon’s life, that he hadn’t expected. They were… friends. At this point. And Jon was worried that once the term ended, they’d go their separate ways and lose touch.

But he couldn’t say that, now, could he? What if they didn’t feel the same? What if Sasha and Tim laughed at him? What if _Martin_ laughed at him?

So he sat at what had become Their Table on the last day of class and awaited their arrival with a mix of anticipation and dread. They’d told him they would be stopping by to show him their final grade on the last assignment: a review of an odd infection and subsequent quarantine of multiple people in the local town from the 1950’s, which had resulted in an entire building being burned down to stop the spread. They’d followed up with family members of the deceased, though at this point there weren’t many alive who remembered it. Jon really thought it would be an A project, after the feedback they’d gotten on previous ones. It seemed that the instructors were fond of Weird stories, and this one was Out There.

The group arrived to find Jon deep in thought. He was brought out of it by the scraping of chairs and looked up at them. The sight of his… friends… made something in Jon’s stomach twist. (Fear. He knew it was fear.)

Tim slapped down the paper on the desk. A bright, brilliant “100” was written on the top.

“Oh, congrats!” Jon smiled at them, putting aside his concerns for the moment to share their success. “I knew they would like it.”

Sasha smiled at him and patted him on the head. “Thanks, and it’s thanks to you! You’re the one that found the article.”

“Yeah, thank you!” Tim nodded, holding out his hand for a bro-fist. Jon was hesitant, as usual, but these had become less awkward for him in the last few weeks.

“Hey, actually though. Tim and I need to step out for a minute, alright? Just wanted to show you this. We’ll be back in like… 20 minutes.” Sasha gave Jon a thumbs-up and turned, heading back out the door they came in.

“Right! We’ll be back.” Tim nodded and followed.

Jon was left with Martin, who looked slightly constipated.

“Are you… alright?” Jon asked. “Do you need to go with them?”

Martin shook his head.

“No, they’re… Alright, Jon.” He took a deep breath and blew it out his nose, rolling his eyes skyward. A moment of panic hit Jon. Martin clearly had something to say. Had he noticed Jon being… Well, he hadn’t been _that weird_ , had he? Jon immediately began taking mental stock of his looks, expressions, conversations over the past few days. Sure, he had maybe smiled a little more than normal, but-

“I know you said you aren’t looking for anyone, but it’s the end of term and if we don’t share a class next term, which I think is likely, I don’t want to miss the chance. I really, um, like you.” Martin’s normally cheery expression had an edge to it. He took a deep breath and continued. “I’d really like to spend time with you, outside the Archive, outside school. Maybe a date? Dates?” He paused. “Just one?”

Jon had no idea how to respond. Well, he knew how he wanted to respond, but…

“Uh. Well.” He tugged at his shirtsleeves, suddenly wishing he’d worn something nicer than his standard fare, which was ridiculous. Also, didn't Martin loathe the idea of dating Jon? He would have to circle back to that, but everything he was seeing at the moment told him... otherwise. 

Martin took his silence entirely the wrong way.

“Right, I mean, nevermind. That was stupid.” He laughed, a humorless sound, and started to stand up.

“No, wait!” Jon grabbed Martin’s wrist, felt the warm skin, the coarse hair on his arm. “Sit back down, Martin.”

Martin sat immediately.

“I think that that would be, ah.” Jon didn’t let go of Martin’s arm, lest he struggle too long with words and Martin tried to escape again.

“I think that would be. Well.” His mouth was so dry. “Would you like some tea?”

Martin’s face, carefully blank, started to crack. Jon could see the hope shining behind the careful facade.

“You mean Archive tea, or do you want to go-”

“If you're serious, then let’s date.” The words were rushed. Jon knew if he didn’t push them out, they’d get stuck in his chest and live there until it was too late.

Martin’s expression broke like a geode, revealing a wide, dazzling smile. He tugged his hand out of Jon’s grasp and linked their fingers instead.

“Is this okay?” He asked, and if it had been anyone else, Jon might have thought them condescending. But he nodded, because this was Martin, and he’d never given Jon reason to doubt his sincerity.

“Yes, that’s just fine.” Jon immediately floundered. “I mean, yes, of course. I would very much like to continue holding your hand.” He squeezed Martin’s hand and felt the beginnings of sweat already between them. He had no idea if it was his or Martin’s.

“Do you have any more work to do here?” Martin asked, glancing down at the empty table space in front of Jon.

“No, I’m actually done here.” Jon picked up his bag and tugged at Martin’s hand, leading them outside to the library steps as the conversation continued.

“Forever?”

“I’m not sure. I really like the project, but next term will be… different.” He didn’t have to say that it was because they would be gone.

Martin nodded, looking thoughtful. “Do you think Ms. Robinson would like to have a couple more students working on this whole digitizing thing?”

Jon’s heart gave a thump. “And these students are...?”

“Well, you see, I know of three that just gained a bunch of extra time, who already know the filing system of the Archive. I talked to them and it sounds like they’d be interested in working more on it-”

Jon lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Martin’s, letting them drop again and looking away immediately. He mentally curses his short stature again. The height difference made kissing Martin’s cheek from the floor impossible. The hand he’d kissed squeezed again.

“That would be fantastic, I think.” Jon mumbled.

Martin stopped moving, so Jon did too. Another hand pressed to his cheek, nudging Jon’s face until he looked at him again. Both of their faces were burning, but Martin’s had the softest expression Jon had ever seen on it. (And considering Martin Blackwood, that was an impressively soft expression.)

“Can we try that properly?” He asked.

Jon nodded. He’d never really seen the point in “making out,” but kissing was… nice.

Martin took another step down the stairs and suddenly their faces were a little more even. Martin was still slightly taller than Jon (and didn’t that burn in the competitive portion of Jon’s mind), but they were nearly the perfect height for a kiss.

This time, when the warmth enveloped Jon’s heart, mouth, hand, he had no reason to deny the cause.


End file.
